


The Grand Finale

by Inkaley



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Death, Despair, End of the story, Established Relationship, Established Trick, Family, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Romance, Sadness, Stroke of Fate, Suicidal Thoughts, This ends sort of hopeful after all, Tragedy, loss of a loved one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 06:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20385130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkaley/pseuds/Inkaley
Summary: Life can be beautiful – even after the world has ended.And mine was, because you shared it with me.Many years after they fell in love, Nick and Troy’s life together comes to an end.Warning: *Major character death* This is the end of their story, after all.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, ever since I started writing Trick, I had this idea in mind of how I pictured their life together to end one day in the future. Now I’ve finally managed to finish that story.
> 
> It concludes the [Grand Cause series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369687/chapters/28136589), but can also be read independently as a oneshot of established!Trick one day coming to an end (you may want to skip the prologue in that case).
> 
> I don’t consider these chapters absolutely mandatory to the Grand Cause, so if you prefer to picture them growing old together and living happily ever after, please feel free to skip this one. This is also the reason why I've chosen not to link it directly into the series for now.
> 
> So naturally, this turned out quite sad and depressing, but please don’t think of it as a sad ending. They spent so many happy and blissful years together, I think they had a great life, especially in a post-apocalyptic world like this.
> 
> The song I associate with this is David Guetta’s “So Far Away”.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Today’s the day. Today, it finally ends.”

Nick’s eyes dart to Noah, a questioning glance. “What ends?”

“The waiting,” Noah explains, face melting into a grin. “Today, the waiting’s finally over.”

Nick can’t help letting out a fond chuckle. “Don’t get too excited about it,” he reminds his nephew quickly. “The outside world can be a dangerous place. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten about that.”

“Nah, I haven’t,” Noah sighs. “But I’m not a little kid anymore. I’ll be careful, never let my guard down.” He speeds up the car a little, as if to prove he’s got everything under control.

“I know you will,” Nick replies, giving him a confident look from the side – and yet. As he gazes at his nephew like this, he can’t help but grow a bit melancholic as well. What a brave and courageous young man Noah’s grown to be. He couldn’t be prouder.

Of course, Nick’s quick to roll his eyes at himself for even thinking those thoughts, sounding like an old man, but hell, it really doesn’t feel like sixteen years ago that Alicia and Jake had announced the pregnancy, their eyes shining with joy… Feels like yesterday that he’d held Noah in his arms for the first time, a tiny little baby, so light and innocent and helpless, or that Noah had sat on their floor, putting the wax crayons in his mouth instead of drawing pictures with them.

And look at him now. A handsome young man of sixteen years, driving the pickup with determined eyes, ready for his first outside, multiple-days mission with the militia, fully geared up, wearing his fatigues.

It’s almost funny, looking at it in hindsight: Even though Jake and Alicia are his parents, there’s so much of himself that Nick recognizes in Noah. And not just of himself, of all of them. It’s as if Noah had inherited the best and the worst of all of them: Jake’s sincerity as much as his occasional naiveté, Alicia’s strength as much as her stubbornness, Troy’s thirst for knowledge as much as his tendency to judge, Nick’s compassion as much as occasional weakness of will. They did their best to make sure he would be able to use this very particular mix of his to keep him safe in the outside world. Whether they’ve succeeded or not remains to be seen.

“You don’t have to look at me like that, Uncle Nick,” Noah chuckles eventually, as he notices the other one’s absent-minded gaze. “Alex and Liam are with us. What could possibly go wrong?”

_Nothing will happen, of course_, Nick thinks to himself, knowing full well how ridiculous his concern objectively is. Over the years, Liam and Alex have grown to be two of the best and strongest fighters of the militia, one day certainly taking over the lead from Troy and Coop. Noah couldn’t be in better hands out there.

Sure, a certain risk always remains when leaving the fences, but in the hugest majority of cases, everyone always returns home safe and sound after their missions. This irrational worry is just an instinctive fear parents (and uncles) always have when their kids leave home, even though reality itself is the perfect proof it’s effectively ungrounded.

So eventually Nick lets out a long sigh, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over his short beard, then he cracks a grin. “Well, as long as you promise me to be cautious, listen to your guts and follow common sense, that’ll put my mind at ease.”

“Of course,” Noah rolls his eyes fondly. “I always do, you know that.”

They’ve reached the gates by now, and the majority of Noah’s party has already gathered. Alex and Liam are busy loading the last pieces of gear on the pickups – it also seems like ages ago that they were the rookies of the militia –, while the rest of the squad is in the middle of saying goodbye to their families.

All in all, the scene feels a bit like seeing kids off to their first school trip.

So, not much of a surprise, the Clark / Otto family has sent their representatives as well.

“Oh, give me a _break_,” Noah hisses, as suddenly he spots his mom and grandma amongst the other people bidding their kids farewell, looking as if they were just about to pull out a bunch of white handkerchiefs to see them off. “That’s _totally_ not embarrassing,” he grunts to himself, as he eventually pulls over and parks the car.

Nick can’t help chuckling as he opens the passenger door. “Remember the penguins of Madagascar? Smile and wave. Smile and wave.”

Noah just looks at him before getting out of the car. “Do I have a choice?”

He doesn’t, so in the end he decides not to resist too badly as he’s being pulled into an unnecessary embrace by both Alicia and Madison, only breaking free once he spots another person among the crowd, a face that makes his heart skip a beat. Ronnie. _So she made it after all!_

“Go,” his mom tells him with a smile as she notices the young woman as well.

Noah looks at his mom, then gives her a grateful smile and hurries over to Ronnie, hugging her happily and kissing her goodbye before eventually joining his squad by the cars.

“Goodbye!”, and “Take care!” is what everyone calls as the vehicles start moving and the gates are opened for them to pass.

Nick watches them fall into line on the road and crosses his arms confidently.

_They’ll come back. They always do._

Noah shoots them one final smile from the loading area of the hindmost truck, and instead of waving in return, Nick gives him the thumbs-up. _You’re gonna do great, kiddo. I know it._


	2. The Grand Finale

Noah’s squad won’t be returning before the end of the week, so of course, while they’re away, life at the ranch goes on as usual.

On Wednesday, Nick and Troy head out for a supply run of their own, having identified a new area on the maps that looks promising in their constant quest to secure valuable meds and other stuff that has grown increasingly rare. Over the years good supplies have started to require them to travel further and further away from the ranch – or prey on other survivors that are unlucky enough to try to settle the area.

Speaking of the latter, they’ve recently become aware of an abandoned survivors’ camp about five hours away from the ranch, which is exactly where Nick and Troy are heading right now. Conveniently, on their route there also lies Fort Thomas, a very small town they hadn’t bothered to plunder so far – the few supplies the scouts have identified there didn’t seem worth the effort, but in times like these, you can’t afford to be picky anymore.

Scavenging both places shouldn’t take too long, especially since the plan is for Troy to hop off at Fort Thomas, looting the place while Nick heads on to the camp and boxes the supplies there, picking Troy back up on the return trip. That way, they should easily be home in time for Noah’s return.

“I just hope those places are worth the trip,” Troy muses after a while, absentmindedly gazing into the distance, as the car makes its way through the desert, mile by mile.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find a few gems here and there,” Nick shrugs with an encouraging grin.

“Hopefully!” Troy groans, shifting in his seat to look at Nick. There’s a sudden sparkle in his eyes as he starts grinning. “Cause honestly, I wouldn’t wanna be beat by our rookie nephew coming back from his first real supply run!”

“Riiight,” Nick replies with a chuckle. “Because this is totally a contest.”

“‘Course it is,” Troy confirms with a mock serious voice, folding his arms. “If the kid comes back with a duffle bag full of brand-new machine guns and all we managed to gather is a bunch of empty deposit bottles, it’ll get to his head.”

“We’ll make sure it won’t come to that,” Nick eventually replies, shooting Troy a conspiratorial glance, before turning his eyes back on the road. “Worst case, we’ll just load a bunch of solar panels from the pantry on the pickup and say we found them at the camp.”

For a few blinks, Troy just stares at his boyfriend, wide-eyed. Then, eventually, he snorts and starts snickering with mock amazement. “Nicky Clark, the one who pretends not to care and then cheats shamelessly.”

“Well, what can I say?” Nick laughs. “If it is to keep the natural order…”

Eventually, they reach their first destination: Fort Thomas. Grabbing his rucksack with the weapons and gear, Troy gets out of the car, also unloading a batch of empty boxes from the loading area. The town itself seems quiet and abandoned.

“Doesn’t look like it’s gonna be too much of a problem securing the supplies left here,” Troy shrugs, approaching the driver window with his rifle slung over his shoulder, as he casually scans the area.

Nick, still behind the steering wheel with the engine running, raises an eyebrow. “Promise me you’ll be careful anyway.”

“Same goes for you,” Troy reminds him quickly, leaning into the car with his arms on the window frame. “So you’ll pick me up again right at this spot? Tomorrow, around one?”

“That’s the plan,” Nick nods. “I’ll let you know in case I’m done sooner or need more time.”

“I certainly won’t need more time,” Troy is quick to point out. “So I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

“Perfect,” Nick replies with a smile, happily returning the quick kiss Troy gives him. “I’ll radio you once I’m there.”

“Great,” Troy nods. “Happy hunting, then,” he says, giving the door a gentle clap as he pulls back.

“Same to you,” Nick replies, then rolls up the window and hits the road, heading for his own destination.

***

In contrast to Fort Thomas, there is by no means any guarantee the survivors’ camp won’t be crawling with walkers – so Nick decides to stay in the car for now as he starts exploring the area. Slowly and cautiously, he steers the pickup through one of the openings in the broken wooden barrier encircling the place.

The camp is actually a lot bigger than expected, tents and vans and small cabins making up the biggest part of the compound. To Nick’s surprise however, there’s even something that looks like an old warehouse at the very center that apparently served as the infirmary, the mass hall as well as the storage room (probably the place where Nick will spend most of his time here). Between the camp and the woods, there’s a small slope leading down to a spacious sandpit. Down there, Nick spots a bunch of fireplaces with grillages for barbecues, as well as two soccer goals on either side of the pit.

_So they had children around here as well?_ The thought of a bunch of kids chasing a ball down there, laughing, quickly gives him a sting in the heart. A flash of memory. La Colonia. The kids. Luci.

Shaking his head quickly, Nick wills the memory away and turns the car around. _Focus on the here and now._

During all of his exploring, Nick only comes by the occasional walker, even though the sound of the engine should stir and attract the majority of all the dead roaming the place. But this can hardly be the entire population, can it? So where did everyone go? Did the living abandon this place when their friends and families started turning? Or have the other walkers simply scattered in the woods?

For whatever reason, Nick’s gut feeling points him to the former possibility, and yet, he refuses to let his guard down. _Remember what you said to Noah. _

Making short work of the few wandering dead, he eventually comes across a nearly undamaged trailer with a surprisingly strong, lockable door, a comfortable bed and no sign of any dead people inside. Nick decides to make this his HQ, his place to spend the night. So grabbing his rucksack, he quickly secures the place and locks the door behind him. There’s even a small kitchen, and in one of the shelves Nick comes across a few sealed cans of food. _Sweet, it’s almost dinner time anyway._

Nick grabs one of the curry ones, opens it with the can opener and lets himself drop on the small corner bench by the table. Shoving a spoonful of cold food into his mouth, Nick switches on the radio he put on the table, calling Troy.

“Hey, Troy, this is Nick, are you there?” He releases the button, white noise crackling in the tiny speaker. “Troy, do you copy?” No reply.

_Huh, told him I’d let him know once I get here_, Nick thinks to himself with a bit of disgruntlement, repeating the message several times during his dinner. Eventually, the can’s empty. Still no answer from Troy.

_Well, he’s probably busy scavenging_, Nick eventually concludes, turning the radio off again. _Which is – in all fairness – what I should also be doing right now._

Gearing up quickly, Nick decides to start clearing the tents and huts of any potential walkers or lurkers, and maybe even bag the first few batches of supplies, so tomorrow he can focus on exploring the warehouse.

The looting goes by without any surprising occurrences – the vast majority of the rooms Nick enters – as it turns out – are abandoned anyway.

So about three hours later – the sun is just setting in the west – Nick’s back in his trailer, switching on the radio once again.

“Troy, this is Nick,” he starts once again. “Do you copy?”

Through the small window next to the table, the last few golden rays of sunlight fall into the trailer, illuminating the furniture around him and softly warming his face.

More white noise.

_Troy_, Nick thinks to himself with rising worry. _Where the hell are you?!_

He’s just about to reach for the radio again, determined to send yet another message, when eventually – finally – a crackling of the speaker interrupts the silence. A distorted version of Troy’s voice.

“Nick, this is Troy, come in.”

“Troy!” Nick calls, grabbing the radio. “Finally! I was starting to get worried!”

“Sorry,” Troy’s voice apologizes. “I was in the church.”

Nick blinks. “You were in church?!”

“In _the_ church,” Troy corrects, and Nick can hear his grin even over the radio. “The place was crowded with dead suckers. They probably thought Jesus would save them from the Apocalypse. Spoiler alert: He didn’t.”

Nick snorts.

“Well, at least now their suffering has finally come to an end. I gave them salvation – probably not the kind they’d wished for, but hey.” An amused scoff. “Oh, and I secured myself a place to spend the night.”

“You’ve made camp in an abandoned church?” Nick asks, another memory flashing before his inner eye. _A drug haze in an old church… Where everything started…_

“Attic, yeah,” Troy replies with a content voice. “Only access is through a rotten ladder – and the windows are the perfect spots for sniping. I can overlook the entire town from up here…”

“Huh…” is all Nick replies to that, absentmindedly gazing at the sunset. The same sunset Troy must be gazing at as well from the windows of the church’s attic this very moment. And even though they’re miles apart, for a second, Nick feels so close to him.

“What about you?” the voice on the radio eventually asks. “How’s the zombie population at your place?”

“So-so,” Nick replies with a casual voice. “From what I can tell, people abandoned the place for a different reason. I don’t see any signs of a major zombie infection here. On the bright side, I came across a huge pantry slash infirmary, which looks very promising.”

“Sounds good,” Troy agrees. “So that’s gonna be tomorrow’s plan?”

“Yup,” Nick agrees. “And for you? Sniping galore from the steeple to start the day?”

An excited laugh over the radio. “I couldn’t think of a better way.”

Nick can’t help chuckling. “Cool. So I’ll let you know in case the pantry takes longer than expected,” he reminds Troy, just to be on the safe side. “Otherwise, the original plan still stands.”

“Perfect, I’ll be ready with the supplies.”

“Great, then get some rest now,” Nick says softly. “And happy sniping tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Looking forward to it.”

A merry snicker. Then Nick’s voice grows warm with affection. “Nighty night.”

“Sweet dreams,” Troy replies, voice soft and loving as well.

“You too,” Nick smiles, then reaches for the radio. “Over and out.”

And the white noise returns.

***

The next morning, Troy immediately proceeds to the sniping, just as planned. Once the town will be rid of walkers, boxing the supplies should be a cinch. So with optimistic anticipation, he takes the rifle from his duffle bag and finds himself a comfortable spot by one of the windows of the church’s attic.

The sky’s not as clear as yesterday. Most of it is covered by a thick layer of gray clouds. _Good for shooting, though._ No glaring sunlight or any nasty reflections blinding the gunman. The town spreading underneath him is a calm and quiet place.

He takes off his glasses to be better able to take aim through the rifle scope, then lets the crosshairs wander around the town – trailing along run-down streets, lingering on rubbish-strewn squares, carefully scanning the crumbling walls of abandoned houses. A muffled shot, a walker going down.

It goes on like that for about half an hour, until Troy doesn’t detect any kind of movement anymore. Satisfied with his work, he packs his stuff and climbs down from his little sanctuary, proceeding to search the town for supplies so he’ll be ready for Nick to pick him up once he returns.

As it eventually turns out, though, Nick ends up being late – so Troy decides to start carrying the supplies he’s gathered to their designated rendezvous spot by himself. _Will save them some time later._ A rather strenuous job though – the raid has been excellent. Aside from several boxes of valuable meds, Troy’s come across guns and ammo, functioning car batteries, jerricans of fuel, several dozens of light bulbs and three pallets of fertilizer. A very satisfying yield, yeah, but also _extremely_ heavy to carry.

Once he’s finally done, Troy wipes the sweat off his forehead and straightens his back with a beat groan, before taking a look at his watch. 1:50 already. What the hell is taking Nick so long?

He lets himself plop down on one of the boxes amidst his supplies, takes in a deep breath and waits.

The minutes go by, his surroundings stay quiet. Nothing can be heard except for the chirping of birds in the distance, but not the slightest hint of an engine approaching.

2:15. Troy’s starting to get impatient. It’s not unusual for a squad member to be late, but it _is_ unusual for a squad member to not give the others any kind of heads-up about it. _And didn’t we agree on letting each other know in case there’s a delay?_

“Nick,” Troy says, pressing the button of his radio. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting for over an hour now.”

He lets go of the button, but the only reply he gets is static.

“Nick, come in.” He tries again after a few moments. “Is everything alright over there?”

The minutes go by, but no sign of life from Nick.

Damn it, Troy thinks to himself. What if something has gone wrong over there? What if Nick’s in trouble?

“Nick,” he tries again a third time. “Fucking _come in_.”

Could be anything, from a broken radio and a broken-down car to him having been ambushed and taken captive by a gang of hostile raiders. _Damn it!_ This was supposed to be an easy mission! They shouldn’t have split up.

Can’t be helped. Troy doesn’t have a choice but to head to the abandoned survivors’ camp himself.

But God, it pains him to leave the supplies behind. Now that he’s carried them all the way down to the road, anyone passing by will spot them. So honestly, there’s a good chance they’ll be gone once they return. But then again, Nick’s well-being is of course more important than a bunch of light bulbs.

He does leave a quick note with the supplies, informing Nick he went to the camp to look for him, just in case they’d end up missing each other after all. He then takes a few of the fuel jerricans, fills the tank of the next best rusty Toyota he comes across and jump-starts the car.

Hoping to run into Nick’s pickup somewhere along the way, he keeps scanning his surroundings carefully throughout the entire ride. The road and the wilderness however are still, quiet and deserted.

“Nick, if you hear me, _come in_,” he tries again and again, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as the other clutches the radio. “Whatever’s going on over there, I’m on my way.”

The drive there however seems to drag, and at one seemingly random point, Troy’s suddenly hit by an oppressing wave of anxiety. God, something _must_ have happened to Nick!! Why else wouldn’t he answer? It can’t just be a broken radio, now can it? What if a bunch of ruthless assholes really got their hands on him? What if they’ve taken him captive, what if they are hurting him? Or what if something went wrong during his search for supplies, what if some rotten staircase gave in under his weight, making him fall, breaking his bones? What if he’s lying somewhere, injured, _bleeding_… or worse?

The silence in the car, the dismal wilderness around him, the unbearable uncertainty – all of that fuels his worry, and he finds himself flooring the gas pedal.

Whatever it is, he needs to get to that damn camp – and fast!!

***

And then, finally, about two unbearably long hours later, the fences of the camp by the woods come into sight. Troy immediately steers the Toyota through the broken gates, but the sight that awaits him there is nothing like he’d expected.

_Walkers._

So many walkers roaming the site.

_Jesus Christ_, Troy thinks, cold sweat starting to bead on his forehead. _‘The place seems pretty abandoned’, huh?! Just what place were you talking about, Nicky, huh?_

With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Troy tries to scan the place as the first dead asshole comes shuffling towards the car, hands smearing blood across the passenger window. Troy accelerates again.

_No use._ There’s easily three or four dozen walkers creeping around between the huts and tents, and the Toyota certainly won’t be powerful enough to knock them all down. So without wasting another second, Troy puts on the handbrake, jumps out of the car and rushes to the trunk, grabbing the machete just a second before a teenage girl in a ragged scouting uniform manages to grab his arm.

He spins round, and with one sharp cut, the head is severed from the body, dropping to the ground with a dull thud. The groaning of the next walker mixes with the sound, greedy hands grasping for Troy. He raises the machete once more, slashing off the dead man’s arms before impaling his rotten head with the blade.

The noise of the fighting draws more and more of the infected, Troy wielding the machete with precision and strength, the weapon that has always felt so natural in his hands. Wide sweeps, sharp stabs, he spins round like a dancer, blood spraying around him like a rain of fire.

And then the last two of the ones surrounding him go down, revealing one of the small alleys leading further into the camp – and the person walking there, with his back towards Troy.

The familiar frame, the brushed back brown hair, the well-known clothes, the slight limp in his left leg…

_Nick!!_

Even though every fiber of his body screams at Troy to _watch out_, his heart urges him to call, to rush over to him, make sure he’s alright… Because he simply has to be! He _has_ to be!

“Nick!” Troy calls, as he chases the man with wavering steps, hand reaching for the familiar shoulder to stop him, turn him around…

And wild teeth come darting back at Troy.

_It’s not Nick!_

That’s the first thought that flashes through Troy’s mind as he stumbles back, only barely avoiding the bite of the walker he just touched.

It’s not Nick. It _can’t be_!

Cause that cold, pale, distorted face Troy’s staring into at this very moment, the milky, lifeless eyes… Those can’t be Nick’s! Those are the eyes of a dead person, a reanimated, dead corpse, and Nick is alive! Nick’s skin is warm, he’s smiling and his eyes shimmer in the sunlight, so… this dead, lifeless body _can’t_ be Nick!

His mind must be playing him a prank, a cruel prank, blending the familiar features of the man he loves with the repulsive looks of a moving corpse, a mixture that makes Troy’s head spin as he stumbles back, trips and falls to the ground, staring up at the walker coming at him…

No…!

For a second, an unbearable cold surges over Troy’s heart, a numbness settling over his body as much as his brain. And he stares up at the walker, the walker that looks so much like Nick, the walker that _is_ Nick.

The walker reaches for Troy’s neck, familiar hands now cold as ice, hissing greedily as he throws himself at Troy, a weight that is also so freaking familiar – and the realization of what all of this actually means leaves him petrified.

It’s not Troy’s consciousness that makes him roll over last second, evade the lethal bite that would have ended his own life as well. It’s some kind of deeply rooted survival instinct, the one they’ve always trained with the militia, the one that keeps fighting even when all your heart and soul is shattering to pieces.

With a swing of his elbow he deflects the deadly teeth a second time, shoving the walker off him to break free and stumble back to his feet.

The walker hisses at him sharply, awkwardly getting up as well, and Troy stands there staring at him, at pale-skinned Nick, the lifeless eyes with the bloodshot circles beneath them, the bared, blood-smeared teeth, and the gaping, horrifying wound at the left thigh, an injury so large and deep, there’s basically half of his leg missing, white bone visible between the last few batches of flesh and muscles left.

_How can this be undone?_ is the one thought that runs through Troy’s mind, while the horrible, horrible truth makes his head spin with nausea.

The walker stands there snarling at him again, no sign of affection or even just recognition left in the dead eyes of the man he loved – loves!

And through the impenetrable fog that has started clouding Troy’s mind, he realizes he’s still clutching the handle of the machete. The blade that drips with the blood of the dead. It’s never felt more wrong in his hands.

Groaning, Nick comes at him once more, hands raised and teeth bared.

And Troy’s fingers tense around the handle.

No.

_No._ Just the mere thought of it is unthinkable.

With shuffling steps, Nick rushes towards him, face distorted and full of flesh-craving bloodlust.

And Troy turns around, drops the machete and runs, runs away from the walker and the unspeakable truth that had been lurking here for him between the tents and huts of the survivors’ camp all along.

***

Darkness.

That is all there is around Troy for a very long time.

He doesn’t feel anything as he sits there in the blackness of the toolshed, back leaning against the cold wall, knees drawn to his chest. He’s trembling, but even though the pain inside his heart hurts so much, all those feelings can’t seem to break free.

_Nick is dead._

_Nick is dead._

_Nick is dead._

A voice inside his head keeps repeating it over and over again. Like a mantra. Like he would believe it, if he heard it often enough. Like he could ever believe it.

It sounds so wrong, so _terribly wrong_, Troy fights to shut out the thought and wills himself to breathe, just breathe.

Nick’s outside that door, fists pounding against the rotten wood, fingernails scratching over the rough surface. The hissing of a walker. And yet. The timbre of Nick’s voice is clearly discernable in it. It’s the most horrible sound Troy’s ever heard.

_Nick is dead._

_Nick is dead._

_No!_

A new fit of pain flashes through his body, a piercing pain in his stomach, like a gunshot or a knife thrust into his heart. With a panicking gesture, he covers his ears, hands shaking.

And for what seems like an eternity, Troy has the impression of floating in an endless ocean, small and light as a feather, the gentle tide making his body sway softly back and forth, back and forth.

Eventually, the walker that was once Nick Clark must have lost interest, the noises gradually dying down until all that’s left is silence and the dull thuds of Troy’s blood pounding in his ears.

_Nick is dead._

The thought still seems so far away, so surreal.

How? How did this happen? When did this happen?

Had it been last night already? Or sometime this morning? What had Troy been doing that very moment Nick had taken his final breath? Shouldn’t he have felt it somehow? Shouldn’t there’ve been some kind of sudden pain in his chest taking his breath away?

The thought that the person he loved the most in all this world might not even have been alive anymore when Troy had delighted in sniping the dead back in Fort Thomas seems too cruel to bear… Or maybe he was already dead while Troy had been peacefully asleep in his bedroll?

_No!_

Another jolt of pain shakes Troy to his very bones.

Just how did it happen? Had Nick been ambushed by a herd of walkers? Had they overwhelmed him when he was looking for supplies? Where did the injury at his leg come from? Had that been one of the dead? Or had there been some kind of accident that had caused Nick to lose his life? The uncertainty, the fact that he’ll most likely never find out, makes his heart clench.

_Focus_! What had Nick worn when they’d parted ways yesterday? Had it been the same shirt he’s still wearing right now? Or was it a different one? If he changed, then Nick must still have been alive this morning!

Only… he can’t remember… He can’t remember anything!!

Damn it! He can’t even remember the last words he said to Nick. He can’t remember the last thing Nick said to him. Hell, he can’t even remember the sound of his voice, or his smile…

_DAMN IT!!_

All those thoughts come surging over Troy at once, drowning him, suffocating him like a wave on the ocean.

From out of nowhere, their lives had taken an unexpected, terrible turn. And from this day on, one way or another, his life would never be the same again.

After what seemed like an eternity, Troy notices the blood on his hands. Warm blood. His own blood. His arm is bleeding, a long, nasty cut just under his elbow. He hadn’t even noticed. He must have gotten hurt while trying to get away from… uhm. _No. Don’t go there again._

With slow, lethargic movements, he opens his rucksack and fishes for the first aid box, cleaning the injury. He applies a bit of rubbing alcohol, and he’s actually grateful for the pain. A different kind of pain to focus on. He takes out the needle and starts stitching the wound. Small, apathetic gestures, as if he’d turned into a zombie as well.

He feels numb and tired and empty, but even with all the hurt, there’s one other thought that acts like the last spark of will in Troy’s mind.

Nick’s still out there. His corpse tormented by the same curse that gets to us all. If Troy doesn’t help him, then Nick will forever be doomed to roam the earth as a fresh-craving corpse, never finding peace. And that’s a thought Troy could never bear.

It’s the final mercy Troy can give him. No matter how painful it will be.

He has to go look for Nick. See if all of this _really_ wasn’t just a mistake, a cruel and insane mistake. That maybe some walker had just looked very much like Nick, but wasn’t him after all. That his mind had just played him a prank, induced by all this fear and worry for Nick. It’s the last straw his heart clings to, even though his mind knows how irrational and pathetic a hope that is.

He forces himself off the ground, grabs his knife and the gun – even though he can’t yet bring himself to go down the path of thinking about using them against Nick –, and heads out of the toolshed.

The light of the setting sun touches his face, hurts his eyes and he shields them against the brightness. So it’s evening already. Funny, realizing how the world just keeps on turning like that… as if nothing had happened.

The air is clear – a fact he notices only now and just in passing, like he didn’t care. The Troy leading the militia would never accept such careless behavior. Being careless is what gets people killed.

But honestly, even if there _was_ a starving zombie turning round the corner over there, would that really be so bad? Would it even be worth putting up a fight anymore? What for, really?

_To give Nick peace, you asshole! If you get yourself killed right now, who will ever save him? He might kill innocents, kill children, tear apart families. Nick would never forgive himself if that happened. He would never forgive you if you let it happen!_

So even though every fiber of his body refuses to go on, to breathe, to act, he forces himself to get his shit together.

One last mission. For Nick. _You owe him that much._

Gun at the ready, he slowly leaves the toolshed behind, retracing the path he took to get here, passing by torn-down tents, overgrown little gardens and broken fences. But the alley where he had had his shattering confrontation is abandoned.

He keeps searching the camp for Nick, putting down the occasional walker, even though he thanks God for each one of them that is not the dead body of the man he loves.

Eventually though, he spots Nick by a large sandpit at the edge of the camp. A place where children used to play soccer when this camp was still a refuge for the living. Now it’s a prison, populated by the dead. Once they tumble down the slope, they are unable to get back out again. Forty, fifty infected at the least have already been caught here, in this accidental trap, doomed to roam this pit for all days to come.

“Nick!” Troy calls automatically, fearing Nick might tumble down as well – and Troy couldn’t bear to see him become part of that forsaken crowd.

To his utter appalment, Nick actually turns around, as if he’d responded to his name. _Don’t be a fool_, Troy reminds himself. _It was just the sound he reacted to, not the name_. _Don’t you dare believe anything else._

Cause dead is dead, after all. The dull, empty eyes that dart to him now don’t leave any doubt about that.

Troy raises the gun.

_Do it. Just do it! Don’t think about it. If you start thinking…_

But he does. His hands are trembling as his fingers tighten around the trigger. The eyes he’s staring into are milky and dead, yeah. But they’re still Nick’s eyes! 

What if one day they’ll discover some kind of cure after all? What if all of this turns out to be just another one of Nick’s blood camouflage tricks? What if all of this _is_ just some insane hallucination induced by… drugs or whatever? What if he’ll end up killing the real Nick out of some kind of lunatic frenzy?

Once that bullet is fired, there will be no going back.

In his heart, though, he knows none of those what-ifs are true. In his heart, he knows that the life within Nick is gone, and there’s no coming back from that. All those years of research have proven it. Nick Clark is dead. All that’s left is to allow him to find peace.

And a gunshot echoes through the silence.

Once, a lifetime ago, at the very beginning of their story together, Troy had wanted this.

He had wanted to kill Nick, put an end to his life out of revenge for his father’s murder.

Now, Nick is lying in his arms, cold and still, with Troy’s bullet in his brain.

It feels as if – in the cruelest of ways – their fate had been foreordained all along. Just like back then, when Troy had tried to choke Nick: Nick on the ground, Troy hovering above him, the reddish glowing sun setting in their back. Now, here they are, a mirror image of what happened back then.

In the most twisted irony, he’s finished what he’d started back then.

They’ve come full circle.

The sun has set beyond the horizon, and Troy is gazing down at Nick, cradling his love in his arms.

With his eyes closed like this, he almost looks as if he was just asleep. Only, there’s no breathing. No warmth radiating from his skin.

_Nick is dead._

And seeing him like this, the dead body right before his eyes, he realizes for the first time it is actually true. A fact in the course of history that can never be undone. Nick is dead. There is no way to turn back time.

Why?

Just _why_??

For a bunch of fucking, unimportant, worthless supplies?

Why had they set out on this mission in the first place? Why hadn’t they stayed home?

He’d promised Madison to always keep Nick safe and protect him no matter what. So why didn’t he?? Why hadn’t Troy been there to protect him?! Why hadn’t he been there, the one time it actually mattered?

Why had they split up? Why had Troy waited so long to come looking for him?

It was just one wrong choice and now it couldn’t be taken back anymore!

It feels so unfair. How could Troy have known? How can he ever make this undone?!

“Damn it!” Troy hisses, the pain he tried to suppress all this time now finally breaking free.

Their life together, their wonderful future, all of that is gone, because of some stupid, unimportant choices! What about their dream to grow old together? What about all those years ahead that they could have spent together, laughing, smiling?

Watching Noah grow into the man he’s already started to become? Watching him find his place in this world, finding happiness? Nick will never meet his grandnephew or niece.

How can all of that be taken away from them just like that?!

It’s not fair for Nick’s journey to come to an end so early, so abruptly, so pointlessly! He, of all people, deserved to live!

A memory flashes through Troy’s mind. The dream Nick told him about, the one he dreamt the night they moved in together so many years ago. Nick had told him the dream you dream on your first night in a new home comes true. And he’d dreamt of them sitting on the porch together in rocking chairs, overlooking the ranch and smiling, as old men.

What about that future?! It had been foretold! It had been _promised_ to them!!

Troy raises his head to the heavens, and with a breaking voice he cries: “Fucking God, how dare you do this to me?!”

But silence and the groaning of the walkers down in the sandpit is the only answer he gets.

And out here, in the middle of nowhere, with the man he loved more than anything in this world dead in his arms, Troy starts crying like he’s never cried before.

***

He carries Nick to one of the trees. Not just a random one from the woods surrounding the camp. An exposed one, a beautiful one, a special one.

One, in whose shade a wanderer would like to rest.

The stars have appeared on the cloudless night sky, hundreds of them, twinkling softly, their beauty in such a paradox contrast to the horrors down here on earth.

The body is heavier than Troy remembers. That’s the thing about corpses. They always feel heavier because the person doesn’t have any body tension anymore and isn’t using their own muscles to help. This body however feels so much heavier for an entirely different reason.

He sets him down again by the place he chose, softly, gently, as if it still mattered.

Then he heads back to the toolshed, gets the shovel – and starts digging.

And with every shovelful of soft brown earth, the night around him darkens.

_Nick is dead._

To think he would never get to see his smile again, hear his laugh, feel his kiss. Gaze into his eyes, those amazing, beautiful eyes, that looked at him like no one else has ever done before – and no one else ever will again. Never count on his advice again, feel his comforting hand on his shoulder whenever he was at a loss. Never trust on Nick always having his back, no matter how grave or dangerous their mission. Never see him wake up next to him ever again, the warm morning sunshine on his face as he smiles.

What a cruel, dark world this place will be, the world without Nick.

He notices tears running down his cheeks again. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t make them stop.

He’s lost one half of his life, one half of his soul and all of his heart with Nick, so is it really worth going on? He’d be suffering for the rest of his life. Maybe someday he would get better. Maybe. But the pain would never really go away.

It shouldn’t be like this, Nick dead and him alive. He’s not saying it should have been the other way around. No. Certainly not. He would never wish for Nick to be forced to go through what he’s going through right now. They just should have stayed together. Lived together, or died together.

When the grave is finally dug, he climbs out again, his hair wet, skin sweaty, eyes puffy and hands shaky. He picks Nick up again, the heavy, lifeless body, carries him to the grave and lays the body down on the soft soil.

He pauses by his side to take one last look at him, say goodbye, at least some way. But he can’t. He can’t bring himself to stroke over Nick’s head one last time, cup his cheek with his hand, or even kiss him. He dreads the cold of his skin, the lifelessness of his lips. Nothing like Nick should ever feel like. Nick feels warm and soft and alive, and that’s how he needs to remember him. He can’t bring himself to spoil that memory.

He finds himself sobbing, wiping away more tears, and all he manages to stammer in the end is a shaky, “I’m so sorry…”

Then he forces himself to climb out of the grave again, take the shovel into his hand again and dig into the mound of loose earth. He turns back to the grave, stares down into the darkness, the moon faintly illuminating the outlines of Nick’s body. Then he throws the shovelful of earth down, watching as it starts covering the lifeless corpse with a rain of soft soil.

When the grave is closed again about half an hour later, Troy finds himself staring at the spot where Nick now rests. He stays like this, frozen, for a long while, as if saying a silent prayer or losing himself in the memories of the life they shared together. The life that is now over.

He takes out his knife.

Nick has never been a religious person, Troy knows that. He was an atheist, just like everyone in the Clark family. Troy on the other hand has grown up in a religious family – not that either of his parents had actually applied many of the things they preached to themselves.

But Troy believed there was a God. After all, it had always seemed like a just punishment for a world gone mad to bring the apocalypse upon it. He had always liked to believe that God was on their side whenever they’d fought against hordes and hordes of the undead.

But now, with Nick’s body buried in the soft soil before him, God can only be the cruelest of sadists, and Troy doesn't want to believe in a God like that.

If there is a heaven, though, he would want Nick to go there, to finally be safe and at peace and without a care in the world. He wants that for Nick, and hell, he doesn't have the slightest doubt that heaven wouldn’t exactly be the place Nick would go to. The wonderful, kindhearted, brave, loving person he was. Heaven was meant for him.

So he takes one of the wooden crates from the pickup, breaks it, takes two of the planks and ties them together to form a cross.

Then he starts carving the letters.

***

Later that night, Troy is sitting on the ground by the pickup, thinking, absentmindedly playing with the lighter he found amongst the stuff Nick left in the car. The stuff Nick will never return to.

Like the package of cigarettes, that still feels as if Nick would just appear around the next corner and pick one of them for a smoke.

Pensively, Troy takes the package into his hand, tilts it back and forth, back and forth, let’s it slide through his fingers, imagines Nick’s hand holding it, the warmth of his skin against the printed paper.

Then he flips it open, five cigarettes left. Cigarettes, Nick was carrying around with him all this time, unaware he would never get the smoke them. That decision had already been made by fate, mercilessly watching us struggle as we try to find the right path in our lives when in truth we’re nothing but puppets on a string.

He takes out one of the cigarettes and lights it, as Nick has done so many times. He’s never liked the fact that Nick never gave up on this addiction. “It will kill you one day,” he’d always warned him. Ha ha, what a good one. Now that the cards of destiny have been shown, he could have well told him: “Go ahead, smoke twice as much if it gives you joy. You won’t live long enough to die of lung cancer anyway.”

It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter anymore that he’s always disliked the scent of the smoke. Smelling it now, he can just close his eyes and imagine Nick sitting next to him, bumping his shoulder against his and telling him with a proud voice about all the great supplies he’d secured at the camp.

“What about you, Troy?” he’d ask eventually. “What did you come across on your hunt?”

Instantly, the sight of Nick’s corpse turning around to look at him flashes through Troy’s mind, making him wince.

_No! _

The cigarette starts glowing as he brings it to his lips and takes a drag – he just wants to feel, wants to feel anything that brings him closer to Nick. Just for a moment…

The smoke immediately fills his lungs, streaming into every branching of his airways – blocking his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t breathe anymore… And Troy starts coughing uncontrollably, for a second actually fearing he’ll suffocate. _Yeah, go ahead. Kill yourself with a cigarette._

Jesus Christ, how could Nick ever stand this, let alone enjoy this?

His breathing only slowly relaxing, he stubs out the cigarette, feeling yet another surge of pain inside his heart. What a cruel world. It doesn’t even grant him this one pathetic gesture to feel at least a tiny bit of closeness to the person he just lost.

Well, it’s not like he deserved it anyway. He failed the one thing that had mattered in his life. The one thing that made his life worth living, gave it a purpose, happiness.

“I wasn’t able to keep safe what I love,” he whispers to himself, shutting his eyes as he leans back against the car. “I’m so sorry Nick… I failed my Grand Cause.”

And without it, what was the point in going on, really? All that would wait for him were years and years of pain and mourning. The life he enjoyed, the future he was looking forward to had been torn from his hands. There was no point anymore.

Sure, for as long as Troy could think, there’d been one thing he’d always been sure of: And that’s the fact that no matter how grave the sorrow, ending his own life would never be an option. Suicide is the easy way out cowards take, a death without a purpose.

And in times like these that’s something humanity cannot afford.

And yet.

Never before had Troy lost someone he needed as much, someone his happiness depended on as much as it had on Nick. Never before had he lost the love of his life, the one person that meant everything to him and more.

He doesn’t make his decision now. In fact, it had already started to grow in the back of his mind, with every dig of dark brown soil, every surge of pain taking his breath away, every excruciating tear of mourning shed. In fact, it had been inevitable all along.

Returning home without Nick by his side, passing every spot they’d previously passed together now alone? Watching as their family breaks down once he delivers them the horrible news, being forced to comfort them when all he wants to do is break down himself?

No, the rooms of their house would be so quiet and empty without Nick. There’s nothing left for Troy at the ranch, or anywhere for that matter.

He knows what he has to do. It’s the only thing left for him.

***

If Troy ever takes his leave, he’ll go with a blaze, and take out as many of those rotting assholes with him as he can. Every walker gone will be one walker less posing a threat to his family, one walker less for them to kill, and that will be his final service to his family.

Taking three of the jerricans of fuel he loaded into the Toyota – the ones meant for the drive back – he returns to the pickup. He unscrews the lid of the first one and starts pouring the liquid all over the truck, on the backseat, the passenger seat, the driver seat. The other two, he places on the loading area, cutting them both open with his knife until the fuel starts running in two slow but even streams. The last thing he’d want was to end up dead with a bunch of fucking rotting assholes chewing on his bones. He’ll make sure there’ll be nothing left. Not of him, not of them.

He loads the gun and puts it on the passenger seat.

Then, in safe distance to the pickup, he lights another cigarette, putting it against his lips and slowly, carefully taking a drag from it. This time, he doesn’t choke. This time, he lets the smoke fill his lungs, and Nick comes to life with every bit of its taste.

He opens his eyes again and gets into the car. He reaches for the gun on the passenger seat and releases the safety catch, then puts both hands on the steering wheel: The cigarette still glowing between the fingers of his left hand, the pistol firmly clutched with his right one.

He stares ahead through the windshield, down the slope into the sandpit. The dead shuffling restlessly around the place.

Troy takes in a deep breath, his mind growing entirely blank. He doesn’t feel anything. No pain, no sadness, no fear. Peace, maybe. Just a few more seconds, then he will be reunited with Nick.

It’s that thought that gets him to sink his boot in the end. With a sudden jerk, the pickup starts moving, shaking, going faster, until it descends the slope.

Troy speeds up the car as much as he can, he wants to hit the zombies full-force.

And as he steers the vehicle right into the crowd of the dead, he raises the gun to his temple. End it now, before the impact. Before you doom yourself to an agonizing fire death.

_Eighty-seven minutes… What a shame no one will ever see the proof._

It’s so easy to pull the trigger. He’s done it a million times. He’s enjoyed it every single time.

He enjoys it this time.

_Nick…_

A gunshot resounds through the night as the car runs into the crowd, and a cigarette glowing in the dark drops from limp fingers. Slowly, as if in slow motion, it falls towards the ground, like a snowflake tumbling from the clouds.

Eventually, it touches the floor – and an inferno starts lighting up the darkness.


	3. Epilogue

On Friday, Noah and his squad finally return home; Nick and Troy, on the other hand, are long overdue.

It’s strange to not hear anything from them at all. No radio message informing the rest of the militia of any trouble that might delay them.

On Saturday, Coop and Jake decide to gather a small search party, following them to their two destinations and making sure everything’s alright. Noah wants to join, too, but his dad won’t allow it.

They reach Fort Thomas around noon, and immediately notice the huge pile of supplies that has been neatly put up right by the main road – ready to be loaded into the truck at any time.

“Check this out,” Coop says, holding a piece of paper to Jake.

Troy’s handwriting, Jake recognizes it immediately.

_N – _

_On my way to check on you. Wait for me here, in case we miss each other._

_– T_

Jake can’t say exactly what it is, but as he holds that little piece of paper with hastily scribbled words in his hands, he feels a shudder running down his spine. The supply run hasn’t gone according to plan. For whatever reason, Nick hadn’t shown up where and when Troy had expected him to. Something has happened.

“We need to find them, fast,” Jake hisses, shoving the note back into Coop’s hands. “They might be in trouble.” He hopes they are. ‘Cause whatever the alternative would be, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

They get back into their cars and follow Nick and Troy’s trail to the survivors’ camp they planned to loot in addition to the town. During the entire ride, they keep their eyes open for clues on anything unusual along the road, something that might hint at a recent accident or anything… But there’s nothing. In the back of his mind, Jake starts wondering whether those survivors at the camp might have actually survived after all.

Doesn’t look like it, though. When they eventually arrive at the camp, the entire place seems deserted. Carefully, they start searching the area, staying in contact via radio in case someone finds anything.

That person turns out to be Jake in the end. It doesn’t take long before he encounters a trail of blood that looks suspiciously fresh. Following it warily, he eventually spots a rather majestic tree by the woods, and the trail points him to something that seems like… a freshly dug grave…? He finds his suspicion confirmed as he eventually notices a small wooden cross someone put there.

But as he reads the name craved into it, he feels as if the ground was falling out from underneath his feet, a surreal, nauseating sensation, like someone just hit his head with a huge hammer. Over and over again, he reads the name written there, certain it must be some kind of delusion.

“Jesus Christ…” Coop suddenly hisses next to him, face paling.

_Nicholas Clark_

_1990 – 2029_

_The Light of My Life_

For a moment, Jake’s vision grows blurry and he feels cold sweat forming on his forehead. No, God, please no! Not Nick! Don’t tell me Nick is dead! Don’t tell me this is his grave that Troy dug for him.

_Troy…!_

Still entirely absorbed by his shock about Nick, the fear for his brother starts mixing into his consciousness. Where is he? What happened here? Is he alright? But even if he was, Jake doesn’t even want to think of what Nick’s death would have done to his brother… He needs to find him, now!

“Guys,” Cory calls them at this very moment, pointing ahead. “There’s something you should see.”

They find the sandpit with the two soccer goals, a place filled with burnt corpses. In the center, a burnt-out car.

Agitated by a sudden vision of what could have happened here, Jake slides down the slope and hurries over to the car. A pickup. One of their pickups!

Behind the steering wheel another corpse, burnt beyond recognition. The watch around his wrist however managed to withstand the flames. The glass is cracked, but the dial is still alright. And Jesus, there is no doubt. This is Troy’s watch.

Jake breaks down to his knees as soon as the realization hits him, a pain that can’t be put into words. Troy… His little brother, the one he always swore to protect. _Oh Troy… What have you done…?_

Eyes filling with tears, he buries his face into his hands, images of their lives flashing before his inner eyes. Little Troy hugging his dino plushie, crying when Jake left for school. The teenage boy sternly tending to his mother as she died. The troubled young man, and the strong and caring person he turned into ever since he met Nick. Nick had been his salvation, now he might also have been his doom.

Alicia, Noah, Madison… He’ll have to tell them. He’ll have to be the one to shatter their worlds, just like his was shattered a minute ago.

They re-open the grave.

Leaving their family members and friends behind out here – not an option. And even though they know it’s silly wishful thinking, in the back of their minds they all silently pray for the grave to be empty after all, for all of this to just be a huge misunderstanding, for the burnt corpse in the car to just be some random dead raider who stole Troy’s watch.

But of course, they know they are clutching at straws. And when it really is Nick’s face that is exposed to the sunlight, they all turn away in shock and pain.

Judging by the milky color of Nick’s eyes, he must have turned before finally finding peace – and with a shudder Jake begins putting the puzzle pieces together. He can’t imagine what his brother must have gone through in those final moments of his life, but in the end, he understands.

He knows how much Troy loved Nick, how much he needed him, depended on him. Despite the unspeakable pain that losing him causes for Jake, he understands. It somehow feels right for them to stay together, until the very end.

Of course, that thought doesn’t help to ease the pain and sorrow the family feels once they learn of what has happened to Nick and Troy. For a very long time, the days of the Clark / Otto family are filled with silence, tears and whispers, but at least they aren’t alone. They still have each other, and they all share the same pain.

With a solemn funeral, Nick and Troy are buried on the ranch’s graveyard, side by side, as they would have wanted it. The wooden cross Troy made for Nick is put up again on his grave, and the family made another one for Troy.

The entire ranch attends the funeral to say goodbye and pay their respects to the men they all owe so much: Mrs. Andrews, the canteen’s chef, Mrs. Franks, in charge of the crops, and even Mr. Rowlands, their past differences long forgotten. There’s Nathan, Clara and Ronnie, who’d grown so close to the Clark / Otto family over the years, and of course the militia, who were not only Nick and Troy’s colleagues, but also their friends: Liam and Alex, Cory, Jimmy and Paul, Pam and of course Coop, who keeps wiping his eyes during the entire ceremony.

The weeks and months go by, flowers start to grow on their graves, wilt and grow again, and eventually time slowly starts to heal the wounds of the loss.

And one day, as Jake, Alicia, Madison and Noah head up the hill to visit the graves of their son, brothers and uncles, they stand in front of the crosses, and start reminiscing about the wonderful times their family shared together. And slowly, softly, the occasional smile mixes into the tears.

In the end, there is one thing they all know: No matter how much it hurts, it feels right that they left this world together.


	4. Coda

“You know what,” Nick said to Troy once, many years ago, on a casual night, as they were both sitting on the edge of the bed. He was glancing at his boyfriend from the side, as if he felt a little silly saying it.

“What is it?” Troy asked, returning the gaze.

“We’ve been through so much together already,” Nick replied, “good stuff, some bad stuff…” A pause, then he corrected with a goofy grin: “Actually plenty of the latter!”

Troy tilted his head pensively at that, but eventually snorted and nodded in agreement.

Nick smiled. “But you know, of all the moments we shared together,” he said, “there’s actually one that I’ll forever be grateful to you for.”

“And which one is that?” Troy raised his eyebrow, looking at him, before guessing with a mocking smirk: “That time when you threw that horrible old man’s shirt Madison and Alicia gave to you for Christmas in the garbage can, and I fished it back out before they could spot it there?”

“No!” Nick countered quickly. “I mean, yeah… Okay, that one as well.”

They both ended up chuckling softly and Nick bumped his shoulder against Troy’s, before growing serious again. “No. That moment that will forever hold a special place in my heart is…” The look in his eyes turned distant, melancholic even. “It was the night you stayed by my side, when Mom and Alicia had been taken captive by those water pump raiders. You know, before we got together.” He takes in a slow breath. “You were the one who comforted me, who gave me hope and helped me get through that night.” Eyes darting back to Troy. “That meant the world to me. Really.” His eyes were honest and sincere. “I realize I never said it before, but… Thank you for being there for me, in that dark hour.”

For a long while, Troy just looked back at him, expression unreadable, but his heart full of emotion.

“Thank you for believing that I could,” was all Troy replied, voice suddenly a bit breathy. “Thank you for believing in me.”

And Nick smiled and reached for his hand, weaving his fingers into Troy’s.

Troy returned the touch, firmly holding Nick's hand, and closed his eyes.

_Thank you for making my life so wonderful, for giving me a cause._

_Thank you for having been by my side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank YOU for reading this story and accompanying Nick and Troy through all those different episodes of their lives together. Writing the Grand Cause has been an amazing and wonderful journey that has played an important part in my life during the past two years. So with the lives of Nick and Troy in this story, it feels like also an era of my own life comes to an end – a wonderful time, that I’ll always keep in my heart.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who’s ever commented on this story. It was your kind words and support that kept fueling my inspiration and made this story grow into the long series it became.
> 
> Thank you so much for making this journey so beautiful!


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